Razor Sharp | ✓

Eight

♡♡♡

I'm surprised when Hunter comes the next day for my walk. God, that makes me sound like a dog. But then again, I may as well be one right now.

"My father is just as confused as you must be right now," he says, walking through the door. I cringe when it bounces back violently, just waiting for it to finally, finally break.

Andy must be confused. They all thought that someone was coming to get me yesterday, after my phone call. Eventually, they are going to work out my dad isn't going to hand himself in at all, and I wonder what they might finally do to me then.

I haven't eaten again. I don't think anyone has realised, because last night they'd left the door open from my barn, probably expecting that I'd be gone soon anyway. Instead, I snuck out and gave all my food to the horses in the stables.

I feel weak even when I just move my legs off the hay. I'm sticky with sweat in the old pyjama shorts and tank that I've been given to wear. My hands are shaking, but I push them underneath my legs. My stomach feels hollowed out, like an empty pit of nothing. I know when Hunter makes the final paces to stand in front of me, he'll be wondering why I can't stand up.

"I'm not feeling up to it today," I say, hoping he'll just nod and walk right back out the way he came in. But I should know this is Hunter, always persistent Hunter Haswell.

I notice his beat-up old converse step into my line of sight as I bend over, eyes on the ground. He crouches down, forcing my head up with his hands on my jaw. His calloused fingers move my head from side to side, like he's inspecting something. He rubs his thumb up my cheek, frowning. I pull away, moving his arms with my shaky hands.

"You're so pale," he whispers, looking down at my hands.

"I'm fine, Haswell," I snap, instantly regretting it when I feel my head start to throb.

"Are you sick?"

I close my eyes, shaking my head. "No, I'm—I'm fine. I just...need some more sleep."

"Don't lie, Ellie. I'm not as stupid as you think."

"I just don't want to walk today, alright? Is it that hard to believe?"

"It is when this is the only time of the day you are ever allowed out. Usually, you can't get out of the door quick enough."

"Well," I sigh, laying back down on my bed of hay. "Today is different."

"Yeah, different because you can't even stand up," he remarks.

I don't argue, too tired to do anything but look up at the roof. My hands drum on my stomach. I watch the old rusty fan go around and around, wondering why they even bother having it on when it's doing nothing but wasting money.

Before I know it, Hunter is scooping me. He props my head in his lap as he brings a water bottle to my lips. He brushes my hair away from my face, tying it up in a loose ponytail.

"God, you're hot," he says, and then something passes over his face. "I mean, temperature wise. Not that you're not—"

"Stop torturing yourself. I know what you meant, idiot. It's probably just from the humidity, anyway," I suggest.

"You don't fool me, El."

"I just want to sleep," I mumble, my head moving to the side, resting on Hunter's thigh.

"What you need is food and a wet cloth to help—"

"I'm fine, really."

Hunter pushes me back down, even though I try my hardest to stay upright. "Stop. I'm going to get you some food, but you need to—"

"I don't need any food."

He stops then. He's feeling my face with the back of his hand, cursing. "Yes, you fucking do."

"I'm not hungry," I say, looking anywhere but at him.

He raises his fingers to his hair, brushing his blonde locks with a sigh. He makes me look at him, and his gaze. "When was the last time you ate?"

I don't answer. There's no point. Hunter already knows what I'm trying to do.

"God, Ellie, what are you trying to achieve? Do you want to kill yourself?"

"No, I—"

"You want to get sick," he says. Not as a question, but as a statement.

"You want us to take you to a hospital, so it will be easier for you to escape. You might even talk to a doctor, tell them what's going on and the police will be called. We'd all go to jail and you'll get to go home," he says, practically reading every thought I've had lately.

"Hey, open your eyes," he says, holding my head in his arms.

I snap my eyes open, having to readjust to the sunlight coming in through the barn.

He's so close now that a shiver runs through me when he talks again. "Do you realise how stupid that plan is? First of all, you clearly don't know my father well enough. He would have just let you die. I'm not kidding. He might have given you to Marcos, seeing as he used to be a doctor, but I think that's pushing my father's kindness," he sighs, briefly closing his eyes.

Outside, I hear the distance sounds of chatter, a lawn mower and a shotgun. Music blares from a speaker, but I can't quite hear the song to know what it is.

"Someone is coming to get you soon, aren't they?" he asks.

"Yeah," I lie. "Someone."

He moves off the hay, placing my head back down on the sheet beneath me. "I'm coming back with some food, alright?"

He jogs outside, leaving the door open.

If I was smart, I would use this moment to my advantage. I'd walk out, slide along the barn until I reach the horse stables, then I would walk behind them and run until I met the side of the house, before running down the driveway, finally free.

My dad's words ring in my ears and I fight the urge to cry. I could be out of here by now if my dad wasn't forcing me to stay. I know I can always just leave and not listen to him, but even know, despite everything, I don't want to see the disappointment on his face.

I hated myself for even thinking any of this, but I know that deep down, it's how I feel. It's the most honest thing I've admitted to myself for a long time. I just wish it wasn't true.

Hunter comes back through the door, holding a sandwich and a glass of water.

"That was fast," I whisper.

"I didn't want to leave you alone for too long. I didn't know if you'd still be awake."

"I'm okay, Haswell," I say.

"I just don't like seeing you like this," he says. He goes to grab my hand, but seems to think better of it. "I wouldn't want to see anyone like this, not even you, my enemy," a small smile plays on his lips but I don't focus on them, instead I look behind him at the old timber.

"I'll be fine."

"Just promise me," he says, leaning in so we are inches apart. I smell fire and leather, and a hint of cologne. "Promise me you won't do this again."

Even though I shouldn't promise him anything, I feel like I owe him this. I owe him this promise.

"I promise you."

He seems convinced enough by the way he wipes his hands on his jeans, placing the cup of water next to the hay bale. He gets up to go, but turns around to look at me just as he gets to the door, about to slip back outside.

"Get some rest. I'll see you soon," he says, as his blonde mop of hair disappears out of view.

When he leaves, I take a bite of the chicken sandwich he made for me, wondering how the hell I even survived this long without food when this tastes so damn good.